Painted Ladies and others

13th July 2014

    I left for the morning's walk into light rain and an undecided air about what to wear. After watching two Painted Lady butterflies dance about the clover, the heavens opened; so fleece off and waterproofs on decided the matter. There must have been a wedding at Oxen Hoath; cars were parked along the verges under the trees and ribbons adorned the cast iron gates to the manor house. All was quiet though; it was only 7am. A faint mist had descended on Hurst Wood. An area of woodland has been coppiced and a vista has been opened up of Plaxtol village nestled among the trees on the hillside. Very little birdsong is heard now; Blackbirds have stopped singing after a hard working spring. So it was a silent walk to the Walnut and Cobnut orchards. The trees bore an abundance of fruit and Meadow Brown butterflies braved the damp air. I counted 35 Suffolk rams in the pasture at Claygate Cross, and as I approached Doris's bench, Mr. Reynard was there, crouching, ears pricked, ready to pounce on something in the grass on the bank. I watched, still, as he leapt and caught it chewed it, saw me and scarpered. Then I sat on the bench and had my breakfast.
    Over the stile, into Long Bottom Wood, Nettle-leaf  Bellflower grows by the path; violet hats for fairies and other small people, to keep off the rain. Walking down the Bourne, with Himalayan Balsam on its banks, beautiful, but forbidden, it was a peaceful journey to the Bramley orchard where the fruit is soon to be picked, and down to the babbling brook there for quiet reflection.
    I began to climb up again to Yopps Green and then to Lady's Wood and on up, through rolling fields of soft golden barley to Scathes Wood and at the Mote, had a cuppa under showers of warm rain under my brolly.
    As it was too warm to wear my waterproofs, I stayed under my brolly through Fairlawne and fields of rape where Cabbage Whites fluttered in spite of the shower, and by Dunks Green when the rain stopped and then I was back at the river near the fish farm.  I sat under the cool Silver Birches and watched a Dusky Meadow Brown display his beautiful deep orange wings and children played in the stony shallows down stream and the sweet perfume of Honeysuckle filled the air.
    By now the heat was unbearable and my water supply was getting low as I arrived back at Hadlow desperate for a cool beer.